


The Secret Tapes of Dale Cooper

by Dorothy Marley (dmarley)



Series: The Secret Tapes of Dale Cooper [1]
Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Backstory, First Time, Humor, M/M, Podfic Available, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-01-28
Updated: 1999-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-02 20:48:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dmarley/pseuds/Dorothy%20Marley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cooper didn't address <em>all</em> his tapes to Diane...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Secret Tapes of Dale Cooper

**Author's Note:**

> This story draws on some of the character background described in the book _The Autobiography of F. B. I. Special Agent Dale Cooper: My Life, My Tapes_, by Scott Frost.
> 
> [[Download the podfic of "The Secret Tapes of Dale Cooper"](http://www.megaupload.com/?d=6NIOVP9F) (5:57) 4.09 MB]

September 9, 1978, 4 p.m.

Have finally wrapped up the last reports on the Hobson case. After three months of tedious details, I am finally prepared for my first trial appearance. In the past, Windom has always taken the stand, his greater experience making him a more compelling witness for the prosecution. Now I find the burden resting on my own shoulders, and I am determined that Windom's absence will not affect the outcome of justice. Myself and Agent Rosenfield are scheduled to appear for a pre-trial prep session tomorrow at ten a.m. I have never done this before, but Albert has testified in many previous trials, and at the prosecutor's request he has grudgingly agreed to go over the evidence with me this evening.

September 10, 8 a.m.

At this precise moment, I'm not sure that I truly know who I, Dale Cooper, am. There are ways in which we are trained to think of ourselves, mores and norms of society that define our sense of identity. Some of these identities are conscious choices, as my decision to become an agent of the FBI. Others are accidents of birth and genetics, like the color of my hair and my skin. But others are less easily defined, matters of personality and emotion, things such as a personal preference for a color, a painting, the form of a woman, and the choice of what we find sexually appealing.

Looking back on the events of last night and early this morning, I can still find nothing whatsoever that could have prepared me for this moment. I have discovered something in myself which I have apparently heretofore denied, a denial which I am embarrassed to admit, and which I regret. I will now try to verbalize my version of those events, hoping that I will achieve some further understanding.

The evening began as I expected. Albert and I met at seven sharp in my office with the case notes and reports. With Albert's aid, I soon felt confident in my grasp of the details, and well before nine p.m. we were finished. Albert had intended to take a taxi home, but he accepted my offer of a lift and directed me to a small neighborhood not far from my own. As we drove, I learned that he owns a car, and does know how to drive, but hates the act of driving and avoids it whenever possible. I also learned that neither of us had had the opportunity to eat dinner yet, and I suggested a take-out place not far from his house. He seemed oddly reluctant, but agreed to the plan and we procured two quarts of cashew chicken before proceeding.

Inside Albert's house, I was immediately attracted to his forensic journals, which contained copies of his notes as well as personal observations and even scraps of evidence which would have been discarded after trial. Am still not sure if it's entirely legal, but the work itself is invaluable. I perused several of the volumes over dinner, and before long Albert seemed to warm to my interest. He showed me the journals from a number of his more interesting cases, including one which pertained directly to the evidence he had uncovered in our current investigation. Albert, as I had already known, can be passionate about his work. I was not prepared, however, to discover that that passion was contagious.

I can in no way blame Albert for my subsequent actions. The ways of seduction are many and varied, but discussing minute details of photographs of a grisly murder scene cannot, I feel certain, in any way be construed as a sexual overture. On the other hand, grabbing a man by the ears and kissing him passionately is in general one of the more respected and time-honored preludes to sexual intercourse.

Our first mutual orgasm took place on the floor in front of the bookshelves, the logistics of reaching the nearby couch having proven far too complicated. After a long shower, we retired to the bedroom, and I admitted my inexperience in the realm of male-male intercourse. Albert was a gentle and considerate teacher, and displayed depths of tenderness and compassion that I am ashamed to admit I thought him incapable of. I was somewhat overcome, and soon after achieving my second, and far more satisfying, orgasm of the night I fell asleep in his arms.

Albert woke me in time for me to dress and return home to prepare for work. We exchanged few words, but I believe that this can be attributed to the fact that I had not yet had a cup of coffee and he had not yet had a cigarette. We parted with a kiss, and agreed that we should meet again tonight to 'discuss things.'

11 p.m.

Met Albert at eight. Have yet to have discussion, but the evening has nonetheless been entirely satisfactory.

THE END


End file.
